Special
by TheAlabasterPhoenyx
Summary: Muggles hate Mudbloods too. One-shot, OC


**This idea has been rattling around in my mind for the past week or so and now I've decided to let it out to breathe. (Sorry, neglected homework!)**

**Please enjoy!**

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I always wanted to be special.

Every kid is told you are special, you are unique, we love you just the way you are. I never understood when the other girls would bring home their crayon drawings and return to school with stories of Mummy and Daddy putting it up on the wall with a bit of sticky tape. Sometimes I would wonder if it was all made up, if the drawing was shoved under a book somewhere, forgotten, like mine all were.

I didn't understand that "special" was something parents told their children regardless of the truth.

It was only ever my sister who was special.

Somehow, they knew as soon as she was born eighteen months and four days after myself that she was unique. No matter how good I was, how well I did in school, how many awards and achievements I brought home, I could never outshine Adriella.

I must have consoled myself with the knowledge that she was just like me – prettier, daintier, happier, but with no perceivable talents to her name. I thought that one day, Mum and Dad would look past her strawberry-blonde green-eyed perfection to see that I had been special all along.

Then the letter came.

Who could have known that such an insignificant bit of green ink could shatter my dreams so thoroughly?

Adriella was ecstatic, my parents overjoyed. I put on the pretense of congratulations, but every new word, every new trip to that other world crushed me deeper and deeper into that dark place that hides in a soul.

I saw her off at the station watching as haughty strangers looked at us in disgust before herding pretentious children away like we were a disease.

That was when I vowed that I would never let myself be less again.

At first I thought that with Adriella gone, my parents would finally notice me and how I was not a complete failure, but no matter how many awards and recognitions I showed them, everything was always about how do you think _she's_ doing in _her_ classes and with magic that would be irrelevant. And no matter what I did I could not escape Adriella's shadow.

Instead, it crept around me, coloring my thoughts, suffocating me so that all I could do was nurse this bitter resentment and keep trying, keep trying.

When she came back the first time, I was eagerly awaiting her at the station with Mum and Dad and a Welcome Home cupcake that I made myself. She told me all about how wonderful the food was there and how their chocolate cupcakes _must_ have been magical because nothing would ever taste as good.

When she came back the second time, I told her that the Headmistress wanted me to skip straight into Tenth Year at school and what did she think. She told me that she couldn't even be home for it so why would it matter? My parents told me to hush because they got all the time they wanted with me during the year and today was Addy's day. They didn't notice, of course, when I cried myself to sleep.

When she came back the third time, she wondered why I would ever want to waste my time with a guy like Eric and I told her that he was _my own life_, not hers. She lectured me on safety and how to handle guys like that and I didn't tell her that the only time I ever felt happy was when he was sneaking me around London, showing me how to love and fight and survive in the dark.

And of course I didn't tell her that he had a half-blood cousin who looked the other way when some bit of Dark magic seemed to go missing.

When she came back the fourth time, I was late coming home from Eric's house and she asked me why I felt like magic. I told her that maybe it was because I had a filthy _witch_ for a sister, and I smiled as her face crumbled and she looked at me with those betrayed, watery doe eyes.

How could you say something like that? they asked me, yelling, angry that I had insulted their precious girl, and all I did was sneer and lock myself in my room with Eric's newest book and mutter How indeed?

She knew something was up. She tried to force it out of me, to save me, to protect me, but I was to going to let her take something else from me ever again. I stayed away from her all summer, locked in my room with Eric's dark books or even Eric himself, studying ideas that should not exist in a happy house like ours.

When she came back the fifth time, she found out that I had changed. I no longer cared to try and outshine her. I no longer cared to hide my hatred for who she was and what she was, and I spent most of the summer with Eric, avoiding everything she stood for.

She cornered me near the end, barely two days before I left for university, and tried one last time to reconcile.

Spoilt brat, I called her. Freak.

You took everything I should have had. Everything I never had.

She looked at me with this look in her doe eyes, this look of pity and fear, and I knew then that I hated her, with all of my soul. I nearly killed her then.

Suddenly, I couldn't see a reason not to. Those who would miss her, who would be hurt by her death, did not care for me, and I would do anything to hurt them. I had had enough of my trying and trying and crying when I failed, and I wanted someone to burn for it.

She nervously fingered her wand and I knew that all of my hate centered around that world.

It stole my dream from me, my sister from me, my life from me.

I left and I did not look back, and if I had hurt her then she was welcome to it.

Two months into university, I began.

They did not find me because who would suspect somber little Muggle Morgan in the triple homicide of a wizarding family? We just don't kill them; they kill us, of course.

And each time I tracked down another, knowing exactly what to look for because of my own despicable sister, I felt a little bit more whole, like I was exterminating a virus run rampant, infecting and destroying all the perfect little families and perfect little girls in the country.

I was smart. My authorities could not be told that these people killed were connected only by magic, and I was sure to use extensive disguises and magic weapons to kill these vermin. I had a vendetta to sate, and I would not be caught until I could satisfy it.

_The Savage_ they called me. The wizarding papers ran stories about my kills, speculating who I could be, why I would do this. Some thought I was the Dark Lord, returned after just six years, or maybe one of his insane followers. Some thought I was a rogue vampire, driven insane by years alone. Surprisingly, a nonsense magazine Adriella once told me about came closest to the truth: "Crazy Muggle Ghost Avenges Death of Lover: The Truth Behind the Tragedy."

Finally, someone cared enough to pay attention, someone knew what I did. They did not ignore me. I relished in each stolen headline, all the while knowing that I was killing on borrowed time. I still had one more job to do, and then they could catch me.

When she came back the seventh time, I was waiting for her. The first thing I did was snap her wand, and the last thing I did was snap her neck. I, Morgan Mura Bell, counted the number twenty-five tally, Adriella Roseanne Bell.

At that point, I lost the fury, the passion, leaving just a bitter hatred toward wizards and a cold desire for revenge, fading slowly along with my memories of my grieving parents. I knew that I could not outrun the wizarding authorities, so I walked back through London, waiting for them to come and get me.

What found me instead was not exactly a wizard, but it was certainly not human. He called himself Greyback. I think he was surprised when I just asked him to. I knew who he was, I knew _what_ he was, and I wanted to become a part of it or die trying.

I was tired of trying, tired of being just another Muggle struggling to be different, murdering wizards out of hatred and jealousy.

I was tired of wizards and Muggles, and I wanted to belong – somewhere, anywhere.

I was _tired_ of needing to be special.

But, really, why doesn't matter, does it?

No one cares about the why.

I myself do not care why, I just care that now I am part of a pack, the only former Muggle in a group of former wizards, the only former Muggle serial killer – of wizards, nonetheless – in the entire pack, and I find that "special" is just a word.

I could care less that I am different, now that I finally belong.

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**Thanks for reading!**

**Does anyone want me to write more with Morgan, or should I leave this be? I do not know if this is intended as a background piece or a story piece. (I could probably write her own story, as a werewolf, during the war, or whatever, but I'm not sure if it's worth the time). **

**I would love to hear from you!**


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